James Beattie

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
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Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.

Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.

Zealous, not modest.

Zealous, not modest.

And none speaks false, when there in none to hear.

And none speaks false, when there in none to hear.